


Bloody Miserable

by ObsidianPen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:07:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26413129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianPen/pseuds/ObsidianPen
Summary: Hogwarts was not the same without him.
Relationships: (past) Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 21
Kudos: 129





	Bloody Miserable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pugetprincess](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=pugetprincess).



_Bloody miserable._

If she had to describe her life this year, it would be that exact phrase. Miserable, because she had never been more deplorably so in her life. And bloody, for both its literal and metaphorical emphasis.

Currently the literal.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she swore, not quietly. It hardly mattered—she could have screamed it as loud as she’d liked; no one could hear her where she was. The word was swept out of her mouth in a gust of cold wind.

But just because no one could hear it didn’t mean Ginevra Weasley didn’t appreciate a good curse.

Her teammates were shouting, she was sure, but Ginny couldn’t hear them any better than they could hear her. She slowed down regardless, lowering herself towards the pitch so she could land. Her nose was gushing blood. She stemmed it with one hand while the other held the handle of her broom. When she touched down, the rest of her team was already there, waiting on the grounds.

The catcalls greeted them, loud and horrible. The wind seemed to be against her on all fronts today—it stifled her would-be instructive voice while carrying _their_ taunts directly into her ears. Ginny did her best to ignore them.

“Fucking bludger!” she shouted. Demelza, who had been moving towards her with concern in her eyes, backed off. “Fucking shite!”

“Ginny, here, let me—”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

She _was_ fine; a bloody nose—hell, even a broken nose—was not the end of the world. What was far more troubling was that the bludger had hit her in the first place. On their first practice, too.

A fine captain she was making.

“You need to go to the hospital wing—”

“I know,” Ginny snapped. Then she sighed defeatedly. “I’m calling it. Practice is over. We only had about twenty minutes left anyway…”

She didn’t say anything else. Ginny marched off, bypassing the locker rooms and heading straight towards the castle. When the catcalling became unignorably loud, she hopped on her broom and decided to fly to the hospital wing instead. It was faster, and fuck it, she could just keep her broom under her bed until next practice. It wasn’t like anyone was going to try and steal Fred’s old Cleansweep from her dorm room, anyway.

As she soared past the stands, Ginny’s focus betrayed her. Her eyes flickered to them even as her attention was already divided, stemming the blood from her nose while staying steady on her broom. There they were, the whole fucking lot of them, those fucking arseholes in a sea of green and silver. Just watching their practice so that they could heckle them. 

Honestly, did the Slytherins have nothing better to do with their time?

\--

It was hard to decide what was worse—Umbridge’s Hogwarts or Snape’s.

In a world ruled by the petite and stubby-fingered hand of Dolores Umbridge, there had been a Defense Against the Dark Arts class that was truly no class at all (but which Ginny had found useful as an excellent opportunity to work on her secretive note-passing skills with her friend Kora); the unfair, judgmental reviews of professors (which had, in all honesty, been pretty amusing when it happened that one time she had been in a class with Binns, because he fully thought Umbridge was a student and praised her for taking diligent notes); and, eventually, no extra-curricular gatherings at all that were unapproved by the High Inquisitor (which had resulted in Dumbledore’s Army, one of the greatest extra-curricular gatherings that Hogwarts had ever seen, the name of which she still prided herself on inventing. The _Defense Association_ … Honestly, Chang was so uninventive). 

The dark ambiance of Snape’s Hogwarts was much more honest. Defense Against the Dark Arts was now simply The Dark Arts (it was as horrifying as it sounded); there was no unfair judgment of professors to be had because those professors that did not fit in with this new regime were simply replaced (and murdered, probably); and while some of the extra-curricular clubs had been done away with (Snape hated the tradition of starting the year with the Hogwarts’ School Song, so he simply got rid of the whole choir and any trace of music whatsoever), Quidditch, somehow, remained. Ginny had been shocked as all hell when she had gotten her letter for schoolbooks. It had been accompanied by another letter, as well as a shiny new pin.

_Ginevra Weasley, congratulations. You have been appointed the new Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor House, should you choose to accept. Please contact your Head of House to make an appointment to discuss…_

Ginny had read it through blurry eyes. Voldemort had changed so much, had taken away so much, but he hadn’t gotten rid of McGonagall… and she had made Ginny the Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor House. Her big brother Charlie had worn this pin. And so recently, so had…

No, it actually wasn’t difficult at all to decide which Hogwarts was worse. Snape’s rule was full of dark magic and tortured students and the air of potential murder polluted every corner.

But worst of all, _he_ was no longer here.

\--

She had a hard time sleeping.

This was nothing new for Ginny; she’d had serious bouts of insomnia ever since she woke up one morning with bloody feathers all over her sheets with no idea as to why that should be the case. She had gotten better about it over time (she was shockingly close to a normal circadian rhythm in her fifth year, at one point) but Snape’s regime had caused her to relapse. Hard.

Going for walks helped.

It was a very reckless thing to do—Neville had told her as much countless time—but, well, Neville had also been the one to teach her and everyone else in the remixed version of the DA how to do impeccable disillusionment charms. Besides, as much as she hated that it was the case, Ginny knew she could get off easy if she was caught. She was a Pureblood, after all, and the worst punishment they would give her for walking around the castle past curfew was a few detentions. The lecture from McGonagall would be unpleasant to endure, but it beat the hell out of a poorly performed _Crucio_ from some fourth-year who ‘needed the practice.’

What a shitshow this place was.

Ginny held in a sigh as she walked along the second-floor corridor. She always found herself here, no matter where she intended to go on her midnight strolls. It was like some sick, gravitational pull that led her this way. No, not _like_ —it _was_ a sick, gravitational pull. She had made this same journey she didn’t even know how many times when she was twelve. Her mind didn’t remember, not fully, but her body seemed to. She paused at the entryway to the bathroom.

 _The_ bathroom.

Ginny pushed it open, slowly.

“Back again…?”

Ginny jumped, her heart thumping at the sound of Myrtle’s voice. The phantom girl herself floated lazily in over one of her toilets, staring in her direction in a way that made it clear she knew exactly who it was. She did _not_ look pleased.

“Fuck, Myrtle,” Ginny said, her heart still beating fast. Scowling, she got rid of her disillusionment charm. It wasn’t like Myrtle would turn her in. “You scared me.”

Myrtle’s eyes widened when the charm slipped away. She seemed surprised for a moment, but then she shook her head and gave Ginny a bemused smile. “Ghosts are known for doing that,” she said.

“Ha, ha.”

“Come to visit little ol me, hm?” Myrtle said. She smirked. “Or my loo at any rate. Coming here late like this probably isn’t wise. I saw a second-year get struck with a whipping curse for being out late last week. Course, he was just a half-blood…” She cast Ginny an accusatory glare. “Must be nice, being privileged.”

“Yes, lucky me,” Ginny muttered. “I am so very blessed.”

“Aw, is somebody sad because her boyfriend is gone?”

Instinctively, Ginny whipped out her wand. Myrtle laughed. “Oooooh no, not your wand! I’m so scared! What are you going to do, kill me?”

She laughed, a harsh and mirthless sound. Ginny bit back and growl and shoved her wand back in her pocket. “Good night, Myrtle,” she said curtly, then turned to leave.

“Aw, don’t go yet!” Myrtle pouted. “I get it. He was a catch. But there are other fish in the sea. You _are_ lucky—you can still go fishing if you know what I mean.”

She wiggled her eyebrows like she had just made a very clever innuendo. Ginny rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the advice,” she said, then turned to leave again.

“It’s unhealthy, you know,” Myrtle called. Ginny, against her better judgement, once more stopped to listen. “Coming back here like this... I notice it when you do. This is far from the first time.”

Ginny’s cheeks flushed and her anger flared again. “I know that,” she said tersely. “I just… I have problems sleeping. Walking helps.”

“So walk somewhere else. It’s not like you're possessed any more.” Myrtle’s gray eyes flashed, as lively as Ginny had ever seen them. “Unless… you _are_?”

“Fuck off,” Ginny snapped. She then turned and marched away, silently casting a new disillusionment charm, and when Myrtle called to her next, she didn’t stop walking.

“You were nicer when you weren’t you!”

\--

The first game was Slytherin versus Ravenclaw.

The halls were full of that static energy that always preceded a match, but there was something vastly different this year. Everyone knew Slytherin was the top of the pile in every regard—it was why the hourglass full of emerald gems far outweighed any of the others—but how that would translate into the world of Quidditch was yet to be seen. Would the other houses bow to Slytherin, or play just as hard as always?

It was a reasonable question to have... until it wasn’t.

The pre-game heckling went beyond its usual tomfoolery. The mild hexes quickly morphed into more serious ones, and only the Slytherins got away with them. Ravenclaw’s Keeper ended up in the hospital wing the day before the match with shrunken arms that couldn’t be fully returned to normal for at least a week. They almost didn’t get a replacement in time, because no one felt very excited to fill a spot that meant they might be next.

Ravenclaw lost by a whopping 220 points. Ginny witnessed it all from the stands, clenching her red and gold scarf, eyes blazing with fury. Watching the replacement Keeper, Gerald Jones, was like watching a train wreck on a broom. And Elizabeth Fitzgerald had more than one opportunity when she could have gone for the snitch, Ginny could tell, but Ravenclaw’s promising new Seeker didn’t take them.

When Draco Malfoy—Slytherin’s newly appointed Captain, of fucking course, because Slughorn could tell the tides were turning and now suddenly Malfoy was a Captain and invited to his little parties to boot—finally did, Ginny’s blood boiled. He held the glittering golden orb up high, his house roaring with approval. His smile was wide and dazzling.

She would _ruin_ him.

\-- 

Even in her dreams, she flew.

She was soaring leisurely through a misty sky, the setting sun painting it a dull lavender. Somewhere not far in front of her was a familiar form. His messy black hair was even wilder in the wind, and Ginny, grinning, sped along, rushing to get to his side.

He went faster. She called out to him, but he didn’t slow down, and he didn’t turn to look at her.

“Hey!” she shouted. The grin slid from her face, and her heart started to pound with dread. He only sped up. Ginny forced her broom forward, urging it to go faster.

“Wait! Please!”

She was screaming now. Her grip on her broom was so tight and she leaned lower and _wanted_ to go quicker but she could not push it any further because all she had was her hand-me-down Cleansweep and he was so much faster and _fuck_.

“Please!”

He was disappearing into the dull, lavender haze.

“Don’t just leave me behind! _Please!_ ”

She couldn’t catch him.

\--

It was worth it, Ginny thought, to be the Quidditch Captain for no other reason than to use the bathrooms.

 _No Myrtle here,_ she thought happily as she lazed in a sea of bubbles, languid and relaxed for the first time in weeks. Ginny closed her eyes and leaned her head against the tub. She decided to come here early, very early, because she wanted to make sure she could be alone. Getting to the prefect’s bathroom at 6 in the morning was practically a guarantee of solitude, she figured.

She was wrong.

“Is that _Weasley_?”

Of all the fucking people.

Draco Malfoy had arrived, towel in hand, wearing silky green pajamas that probably cost more than all her dress robes combined. He swaggered in like he owned the place—which he supposed he thought he did, Ginny realized. Although her heart rate had suddenly skyrocketed, she acted cool and collected. She was completely shrouded by bubbles; he couldn’t see anything. “The fuck are _you_ doing here so early?” she drawled.

“Language, Weasley,” Malfoy said, his gray eyes gleaming. “I’m here for the same reason anyone comes to this bathroom. And I came early because I assumed I would have it to _myself_.”

“Well, I beat you to it. Piss off.” Ginny leaned her head back against the edge of the tub and closed her eyes again. “Use the showers or come back later. Or better yet, don’t.”

“That’s no way to talk to your better,” Malfoy sneered.

Ginny’s eyes flashed open again. “My better?” she snarled.

“Your better,” Malfoy repeated coolly. He took a few steps closer, his bare feet inches from the edge of the pool-like tub. “Do you have a hearing problem, or are you just slow?”

Making sure that she remained submerged in the water up to her neck and that the bubbles were thick everywhere around her, Ginny leaned forward. “What is it precisely that makes you think you’re my better, Malfoy? We’re both Purebloods. We’re both Quidditch Captains. You’re not exactly a prefect anymore either, are you? So… what makes you better than me?”

Malfoy’s nostrils flared at the reminder. Slughorn may have made him Captain for Slytherin, but he had not been made Head Boy, nor had he been made a prefect again. Guess new Headmaster Snape didn’t feel he’d earned those titles.

“The fact that I am a Malfoy and am in Slytherin and _you_ are from a family that is barely holding its place in society… and a filthy, bottom of the barrel Gryffindor,” Malfoy seethed.

He came closer to the water’s edge, glaring down at her. He was clearly trying to make Ginny feel trapped because she was stuck in the tub, naked beneath the water. It only made her angrier. 

“Funny, that,” she said. “How you claim all this Slytherin pride and superiority, and yet… have _you_ ever been in the Chamber of Secrets?”

Malfoy’s eyes widened, shocked, she was sure, that she would talk about it. For so long she didn’t—wouldn’t.

 _Couldn’t_.

But Ginny was far past giving a shit about any of that.

“Have _you_ ever spoken Parseltongue? Hm? Have you ever murdered a living thing with your bare hands and written with blood on the walls, telling the _enemies of the heir_ to beware…? Because I have.”

Ginny smirked at his stunned expression. “Oh, and I know what you’re doing right now, by the way,” she went on. “Thinking that you can be an arse to me and get away with it because I’m in the oh-so awkward and vulnerable position of being stuck here while you prowl the edge of the tub and act all condescending. Well, Malfoy, as you know, I grew up with six older brothers. If you think I’m just going to sit here and wait for you to _allow_ me to leave because otherwise—gasp—you might _see_ me, you’re quite wrong.”

She abruptly stood, letting the bubbles cling to her where they would, shocking Malfoy so badly that he almost fell as he scrambled away from the tub. Ginny walked casually over to where she hung her towel, naked as the day she was born, then wrapped it around herself.

She flashed him a smile. “I don’t give a _fuck_.”

Ginny turned towards where the girls’ showers and changing rooms were, leaving a mortified Draco Malfoy behind. It was, perhaps, more satisfying than hitting him with a bat-bogey hex. 

\-- 

Their following practices were better than the first, so that was something. It made her hopeful for the first match of the season. Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. At least the tensions were not so high. 

Still, Ginny hated that she was Seeking again. It wasn’t the role she liked best—chasing was far more enjoyable, in her opinion—but none of the new recruits had a knack for it. She had the most experience, and even though she was loathe to admit it, Seeking was the more important role. It was the end game. It was her job as Captain to put whoever she had to in their best roles to win matches, including herself.

But Gods, did it pain her.

She was wearing his pin, she was playing his position.

 _He should be here,_ she thought, not for the first time… and certainly not for the last. _He should be here… or at the very least, he shouldn’t have left me behind._

She channeled her anger into a sudden dive, swiping out and grabbing the practice-snitch in a death grip. The Slytherins who had been jeering at them fell silent when she did, for she purposely slowed down near them afterward, making sure they got a good view of her catch.

For a moment, she locked eyes with Malfoy. _You’ll lose to me,_ she thought viciously, glaring. _I’ll destroy you._

He glowered back, unblinking.

\--

Gryffindor won 150 – 10.

Ginny caught the snitch seven minutes into the game. The stands were still ringing in applause from Hufflepuff’s first and only goal when she held it up, triumphant. Their cheers turned into boos and hisses from the Slytherin side of the stands, and Ginny drank them, relishing their rage.

She felt Glorious. 

\--

Kora’s note came in the form of a paper spider, crawling quietly along the floor, unnoticed by Binns. That was _her_ move, she thought smugly. Last year Ginny had invented the moving paper-spider charm to 1. Pass notes efficiently and 2. Scare the piss out of Ron in case he saw it, therefore preventing him from ever intervening. She lowered her hand down discreetly and let it crawl up her arm before unfolding it.

_So what did you do to piss Malfoy off? He was glaring daggers at you this morning at breakfast. I didn’t say anything because I thought you’d, you know, do something rash. As you do._

Ginny scowled, while at the same time biting back a laugh. She vanished her friend’s words before writing back a message of her own on the same piece of parchment. 

_I never do anything rash. And he’s probably just pissy because he knows we’re going to destroy him in our match next Friday. Stupid fucking bigot poser cock sucker._

She tapped it with her wand beneath her desk and it folded back into a spider. It began to crawl across the floor, but then someone else noticed it. Sarah Mercer, Hufflepuff. Sweet girl, but too attentive, evidently. “Ah!” she squeaked, pointing at the faux-spider. She picked up her History of Magic book to smash it, but Ginny acted first. She didn’t need someone to squish her charmed note and find out it was just paper, and then try to read it.

 _“Infringo!”_ Ginny shouted, pointing her wand. Everyone turned and a few people screamed as the note went up in flames, gone in seconds.

Binns, shockingly (yet not) didn’t notice a thing. He had his translucent back to them when it happened, directing a charmed piece of chalk to write dates on the board (something about troll wars), and he was remained none the wiser. Sarah Mercer muttered, “Bit overkill for a spider… but thanks,” then sat back down.

“Anytime,” Ginny said back quietly. On the other side of the room, Kora had her head down, shoulders shaking with stifled laughter. Ginny smirked.

The last thing she needed was written evidence that she called precious Slytherin Draco Malfoy a _‘stupid fucking bigot poser cock sucker’._

\--

Ginny avoided two hexes prior to the match. One by performing an excellent shielding charm on her own; the second thanks to Neville, who caught Crabbe and Goyle stalking her and took them by surprise, taking them both down with an impressive double _stupefy_ that knocked them out cold.

Together, and with the use of some magical inventiveness, Ginny and Neville shoved the two henchmen of Draco Malfoy into a couple of empty suits of armor, leaving them suspended inside.

“The best part is that it’s close to Christmas,” Neville said, grinning as he and Ginny admired their handiwork. Crabbe and Goyle, unconscious and held in place by a levitating charm beneath the metal, could not be seen. “They’ll probably get woken up when the helmets start singing carols.”

Ginny smiled too. “Tis the season,” she said, and they laughed.

The smile slid from Neville’s face a moment later, becoming more serious. “You better destroy them tomorrow,” he said.

“Don’t worry,” Ginny promised.

“I was _born_ to destroy.”

\-- 

It was snowing.

It had started out mild enough—a gentle, nearly romantic flurry—but as the match went on, the snow became thicker. Already a foot or more covered the grounds. Visibility was low and even her gloves, charmed with warming spells, failed to keep her fingers from feeling frozen to her broom. The wind was brutal; Ginny could barely hear the announcer over its howling. She had no idea who was currently winning. If things continued as they were, the game was going to be called off.

Ginny refused to let that happen.

 _I will find you, you fucking arse_ , she thought viciously. She wasn’t sure which she was referring to more—the snitch or Malfoy. She hadn’t spotted either since the match began, and that was a real problem. If she couldn’t find the snitch, she at least needed to keep tabs on the other Seeker for Merlin’s sake… especially when it was Draco fucking Malfoy.

As though summoned by the cursing of his prestigious family name, Ginny spotted him. Malfoy came swooping from above, his icy blonde hair billowing around him. He hovered a good fifty feet away, but even through the flurries of snow, his eyes were piercingly bright. He waved at her mockingly. Ginny shot him the bird in response.

Then she saw it.

The snitch came between them, a fluttering golden sphere struggling in the wind. It was closer to Ginny. Much closer.

A gust swept it away, downward.

They dove.

She was closer and she knew she was the better flier, but Malfoy’s broom was much faster than her own. _Go on,_ she thought, urging her broom to speed along. She had her arm out, reaching for the snitch; Malfoy, doing the same, was nearly at her side. The wind roared around them. She couldn’t feel her face. _Go on, go on…_

Everything was blazing, bright white and a glimmering gilded speck. A gust blew in her favor and the snitch, in a miraculous moment, flew right into grasping, open palm. Ginny let out a victorious cry at the same time that she heard Malfoy roar in fury, his voice nearly in her ear.

Then they slammed into the snowdrift.

It had been impossible to see just how close they were; the intensity of the virgin snow was misleading and almost illusory in its brightness. Malfoy hit first, and with the hand he had been hoping to grab the snitch with he instead grabbed hold of Ginny’s Quidditch robes. He yanked hard as he spiraled, pulling Ginny clear off her broom along with him. They hit the mountain of snow and tumbled down, rolling over each other in a dizzying heap until they finally came to a stop. Ginny’s broom flew on without her while Malfoy’s was flung off to one side, landing a few feet away from them and disappearing in the snow. Ginny ended up flat on her back and Malfoy, face red and full of fury, loomed over her.

Because of the cushion of snow, neither of them seemed seriously hurt—just shocked and winded. Malfoy still had ahold of her robes. Ginny, smiling despite the rush of adrenaline, fear, and dizziness, still had ahold of the snitch.

Malfoy’s eyes went to it before landing on her face. She had never seen him look so conflicted and angry—he was clearly thinking of ripping it out of her hand, but they both knew that wouldn’t matter. Snitches had touch memory.

She had won.

Ginny tried to push him off, but Malfoy wouldn’t budge. “Get off!” she shouted over the wind. She looked around; had no one noticed the game was over yet?

Malfoy grabbed her other wrist and forced it on the ground, pushing it into the snow. Ginny’s eyes went wide at the sudden hostility. He was straddling her, she now realized. He had landed with his legs on either side of her waist and now he was holding her down and they were shrouded in snow and _no one could see them_. “You cheated!” he roared.

Ginny stared, wide-eyed, so shocked at this accusation that she was momentarily speechless. The wind whipped about them, blowing strands of bright red hair up and into his face. He flinched when they whipped across his mouth. “You bitch!”

That made Ginny regain her voice quickly enough. “You lost fair and square!” she screamed back. “Now let me up, you sick fuck!”

Malfoy’s expression darkened in a way that made Ginny’s skin crawl. He leaned down, putting his mouth right against one of her ears. The wind howled in the other, but she heard him clearly when he murmured, “You have no idea what kind of a sick fuck I am, Weasley… but maybe I’ll show you.”

He lifted his chin, his face so close to hers, too close. Ginny’s heart pounded and her pulse raced. 

A whistle sounded. Madam Hooch had found Ginny’s broom, it looked like, and called a pause in the game. Malfoy rolled off Ginny and was standing in a flash, his robes billowing about him as he marched off to collect his own fallen broom. Ginny scrambled to her feet and raced towards Madame Hooch as quickly as she could, away from Malfoy. She held the snitch up high.

“We won!” she screamed into the wind. Madame Hooch caught sight of the snitch and, despite her supposed impartiality, the referee beamed. “We fucking won!”

\--

The Gryffindor Common Room was full of festivities that night. There had not been a party all year (there was little reason to celebrate much of anything), so it was a welcome change of pace. Ginny had more than a few butterbeers and even slung back some smuggled Firewhiskey that Fred and George had sent her under the guise of an anti-headache elixir from their mother. While the forgery was impeccable and she could appreciate their attention to detail with the fake packaging, Ginny was astounded that alcohol had made it past the screening test that Snape had set up for incoming packages to Hogwarts. Either the former Potion’s Master had lost his touch, or he was simply to busy these days to notice each and every incoming bottle of nonsense to the school.

It was fun, but Ginny found herself distracted all night. She kept looking up to the entryway, heart pausing each time the portrait opened to allow in another student.

She knew it was stupid, but she kept half-expecting him to walk in. To see his face light up when everyone exclaimed that _Ginny did it!;_ to watch the fire in his eyes ignite as he’d finally make his way to her, grab her, hold her, want her, kiss her.

But of course that was a fantasy, and of course he never did.

\--

If walking around the school at night was reckless, walking around the school at night while mildly intoxicated was doubly so.

Still, Ginny did it, and still, she didn’t give a fuck. They beat Slytherin. Also, had Crabbe and Goyle gotten out of those suits of armor yet? She hadn’t seen them since then, but then again, she hadn’t been actively looking. She thought it’d be a nice gesture to check now that the match was over.

But she made a detour first.

Ginny trudged along the second-floor corridor because that was where Ginny always wound up at night when she snuck past the fat lady and ignored the painting's judgmental throat-clearing. She was about to pass the bathroom by, but then she froze when she heard someone speak.

“You should come to visit me more,” came Myrtle’s voice, echoing from inside. “You used to come all the time…”

Ginny pressed her back against the wall, waiting just outside the door. Myrtle was talking to someone…? But who…?

“Don’t tell me what to do, Myrtle. You should be happy I’m here at all.”

_Oh my God._

“Oh, so just because you’re back on top, you don’t have time for me anymore? Except for when you’re _brooding_ , of course…”

Ginny’s heart pounded. What the fuck was _Malfoy_ doing in Myrtle’s bathroom?

“Fine. I’m sorry I came at all.”

_Shite._

Ginny realized her great folly too late. She looked down at herself, realizing only now that she had not cast a disillusionment charm. Damn the Firewhiskey, she thought blankly to herself. She silently blamed her brothers as the door opened and she drew her wand but it was too late and knew she was utterly fucked.

Malfoy caught sight of her the moment he stepped into the hall. He stared at her, brows raised for a split moment in surprise before his expression turned into a scowl. “Weasley?” he snapped. “What are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Ginny echoed.

Silence stretched between them for a long, awkward moment. Ginny broke it by saying, “That’s the girl’s loo.”

Malfoy glared. “It’s half-past two.”

“You have very blonde hair.”

Malfoy’s rageful expression flickered, as he looked confused. “I thought we were just stating random facts,” Ginny said, shrugging a bit sloppily.

“Well in that case, you are a filthy blood traitor who makes very stupid, dangerous decisions,” he said. He pulled out his wand and Ginny raised hers, only to stumble slightly where she stood. Malfoy smirked. “My God, are you _drunk_ , Weasley?”

“No,” Ginny snapped. “I—”

There was a flash of red, and her wand flew from her hand. She gaped at him. “You and that little club of yours aren’t the only ones who have extra special training,” he said coldly. He took a step closer; Ginny took one step back. “I’ve learned lots of fun things over the past two years… Let me show you.”

She tried to dodge, but it wasn’t a physical curse that flew her way. Malfoy cried “ _Legilimens_!” and Ginny’s mind folded in on itself.

She was a child; she was only eleven years old and her brother had just come home and it was him, the Boy Who Lived himself, standing with him at the bottom of the stairwell… Ginny gasped and hid…

The memory flashed, and lurched, and suddenly she was sitting at the table… he was there again and he had just laughed at something and Ginny stupidly knocked her porridge bowl over…

Another twist in her mind’s eye—Ginny was writing a Valentine, then a get-well card—she was with him there, in the Chamber, pale and shaking and barely alive but he had _saved_ her—

Ginny screamed, and suddenly she was dumped back in the present. Malfoy was still standing across from her, his wand raised and pointed in her direction, but he no longer looked smugly vindictive. He was standing further to the left now too, looking like he’d just jumped to the side. “Wandless magic, hm? Not bad Weasley,” he said.

Ginny stared; she had no idea she’d performed any magic. “The fuck is wrong with you?” she hissed. “What are you doing? Why—why was I seeing…”

“Potter?” Malfoy hissed. Ginny flinched like he had struck her. “Because that’s what I was looking for. If anyone here knows where he is, it’s you. And if you do, I’m going to find out.”

His eyes were blazing with conviction when he raised his wand again. Ginny was too shocked to be afraid, to react at all when he once more said, “ _Legilimens_!”

She was older; she was in the hall with Dean, their lips locked when suddenly he and Ron came around a corner in the dark… Ron looked furious but it was the rage that simmered in _his_ eyes that haunted her, which made her burn…

A pulling and blurring and they were in the Common Room… He walked in and Ginny went to hug him because they had won and he didn’t even hesitate when he pulled her to him and finally, finally crashed his mouth against hers…

Ginny tried to stop the memories from flowing, but Malfoy really must have been practicing this shit, because they came one after another, unstoppable…

They were lazing a Saturday afternoon away by the Lake; he was tucking her hair behind her ear before leaning down to kiss her temple… They were in the Room of Requirement and he was sliding his hand up and over her chest and she was moaning into his mouth and then, suddenly, blushing furiously, he pulled away, stopped…

_I can’t, we can’t, I…_

They were at the Burrow and they were in her room and she knew it, knew it in her bones and in her heart that even though the wedding was coming and surely there would be time then to have him but what if there wasn’t and so she lured him there, had him surrounded by pink walls and behind a closed door until her piece of shit brother had to ruin everything—

And then there was nothing.

Nothing.

When Ginny was next dropped into reality, she was on her knees. She was shaking violently. Somewhere, so close yet far too far away, was her wand.

Malfoy was exactly where he had been before. He lowered his wand. Silence rang. For what felt like an eternity, Ginny could hear nothing but the sound of her blood pounding in her ears.

“You think… you thought I would know where he is?” she finally croaked. Then, when Malfoy said nothing, she laughed.

Ginny laughed hard and loud; a cruel yet bellowing laugh that echoed in the hall. Maybe someone would hear them. Maybe they would both get detentions.

“What—why are you laughing?” Malfoy shouted over her. He looked alarmed.

“Because you’re a fucking idiot if you think I know where he is!” Ginny shouted. She felt a little delirious. Damn Fred and George! Damn delicious alcohol! “You think he, what, writes to me or something? Checks in on me? That he told me where he was headed? That he gives a flying fuck about me at all?”

She knew that wasn’t fair. She knew that he was out there risking his life, doing what he did, being a hero. He had a Dark Lord to figure out how to vanquish. Ginny knew she was hardly worth being on his list of priorities; there was a Wizarding World that needed saving.

But it _hurt._

It hurt so fucking much to know that he was out there with Hermione and her stupid git of a brother and not her. It hurt to know that he had left her behind, making her stay here at this hell hole of a school, even if he did it to protect her.

The tears came unbidden. Ginny’s head face fell in her hands and finally, after suppressing it for so long, she cried. The sobs shook her bones and they hurt, too. She didn’t care that Malfoy was still there, standing over her, able to curse her if he wanted. She didn’t care at all.

She just hurt.

When she finally managed to pull herself together enough to wipe her eyes, she was surprised to see that the two of them were no longer alone. Hovering behind Malfoy was Myrtle. She was staring with wide, sad eyes at Ginny, but she didn’t say anything.

Malfoy didn’t seem to notice that she was there. He lowered his wand and walked towards Ginny, his face hardened. “You don’t know where Potter is,” he said.

Ginny let out another choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Quick, aren’t you,” she muttered. She wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve; she glanced at her wand, wondering how quickly she could snatch it. Malfoy noticed. He cast a wordless spell and it rolled further away.

Ginny scowled up at him. “Arse,” she spat.

“He didn’t tell you anything about where he was going,” Malfoy went on, ignoring her insult.

“No… Do you have a hearing problem, or are you just slow?” she hissed.

He ignored the fact that she had used his own words against him, too. His face was expressionless when he lowered himself to one knee, closer to her eye level, keeping his wand held carefully just in case she decided to strike him like a muggle. Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

“He didn’t even fuck you before he left you, did he?”

Ginny was far too stunned by that statement to be immediately angry. She just stared, her mouth open in shock, unable to think of a response. Down the hall, Myrtle covered her own mouth with her hand, looking equally surprised that Malfoy would say something so crass.

Ginny locked eyes with Malfoy again. He didn’t look bemused or angry or anything at all. His face was cold and bloodless. “No,” she found herself whispering, to her own surprise. “…he… we didn’t.”

“Well then,” Malfoy said quietly. He used the tip of his wand to push some of Ginny’s hair aside; it made her shiver involuntarily. His face was too close to hers again. He had a tiny brown speck in his left iris and his lashes, translucent and pale though they were, were ungodly long.

“He is a fucking idiot.”

He stared at her. Ginny gaped at him, her mind struggling to comprehend what it was that he was implying.

He suddenly stood before she could. Malfoy walked straight past her, pocketing his wand as he went, leaving Ginny on the floor of the hall.

Still hovering in front of her, Myrtle made a wide motion with her arms like she was casting out in the direction he had gone, then pulled back like she was reeling him in. Then she smiled and winked. Moaning Myrtle didn’t make a sound before she floated away, disappearing through the wall.

 _Fishing_ for Malfoy.

How very, very funny.

\--

It shouldn’t have happened, but then again, she shouldn’t have been left behind.

“We’re still going to win the Cup, you know,” Malfoy murmured, lips grazing the shell of her ear.

Ginny shoved him off, and he floated away from her in a sea of bubbles and foam. No one else came here at 6 in the morning… but they did.

“Don’t count on it,” Ginny drawled. “The year isn’t over yet. There’s still a very good chance that something horribly dramatic will happen after Easter, ruining the end of the season. As well as our final exams, if we’re lucky.”

“Hmm, like Death Eaters storming the castle and forever altering the future of Wizarding Society? Because that ship has already sailed, doll.”

Ginny scowled at the condescending purr in his voice. “Fuck you, _doll_.”

He smiled and glided towards her again. “Someone ought to,” he said.

She hated that when he pulled her wrist she let him; she hated that his skin against hers in the water made her pulse race and her heart thrum but Gods, it felt good to feel anything. Even it was a demented form of fucked up hate-lust; even if it was Draco fucking Malfoy.

It was better than being bloody miserable.

She knew he only wanted her for all the wrong reasons; because boys were fucking stupid and competitive and he probably saw her as something that he could secretly know that he had conquered—or what the fuck ever—when _he_ hadn’t. But Ginny didn’t really care what thoughts were going through Malfoy’s mind.

She grabbed him by the throat and pushed him back, forcing him against the edge of the tub. His eyes flashed but he allowed it. “I fucking hate you,” she said.

He grinned. His eyes shone and there was that speck of brown. “I know,” he said.

She kissed him, hard; a kiss that was rough and demanding and full of pent up rage. They were full of it for each other, for other people. For _him_.

“This is totally fucked,” she whispered as she pulled away, resting her forehead against his. Their chests were heaving and Malfoy laughed, breathy and low.

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me again,” he demanded.

Furious and flushing feeling everything, she did.


End file.
